


Dip in the Bed

by MadameFluffnStuff



Series: Aang is a ~little shit~ [5]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aang is a ~little shit~, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Katara Needs a Hug, Post-Avatar: The Last Airbender, mild littleshit but still littleshit, no beta we die like men, no sad ending how dare this is cuddle hours with FluffnStuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27289063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameFluffnStuff/pseuds/MadameFluffnStuff
Summary: When Aang was away, Katara didn’t touch his side of the bed.
Relationships: Aang & Katara (Avatar), Aang/Katara (Avatar)
Series: Aang is a ~little shit~ [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917649
Comments: 3
Kudos: 54





	Dip in the Bed

When Aang was away, Katara didn’t touch his side of the bed.

She left it just as it was the last morning he was there—the two pillows squished up against the headboard, the dip in the sheets where he splayed his arm, the curl of blankets like a small nest from where he wrapped his other arm under her shoulders and tugged her closer to him during the night. His heat lingered like the warmth of whitening ashes. His scent lingered like a season just passing and refusing to go.

The first morning alone was the hardest. Aang’s laugh was stale in the air. The small pool of tea at the bottom of his favorite mug was cold. Katara turned every corner and was slammed into a wall when he wasn't there to greet her or jump around to scare her. 

After a normal day, they waited up for each other. Aang usually paced in figure-eights with steps so light and fast that he glided over the ground. He always waited outside for her—out in the open air like his bright robes might lure her from across the city and into his arms. Katara always waited inside for him—to make herself the first thing he saw so he knew when he was home.

The first night alone was the hardest. Katara stayed up for a bit, just out of habit. She made herself some tea—not too strong as to fill the temple with its scent and wash away the trail he left behind—and sat in the kitchen. Aang’s favorite mug kept her company. She stayed until her heart stopped waiting for him to come around the corner, and she left when it found closure in the buzzy silence of being alone.

Ever since she first met him, they had always been sleeping together. Their family dogpiled with Appa during the war. They kept the tradition even after. They made sure to stay at least in twos since the nightmares were unbearable if they slept alone without someone who shared them. 

Katara kept the window open. She folded her favorite robe of his—it was  _ hers _ , and she would fight him for it...it smelled the most like him—and placed it by the fire. The fabric was warm under her fingers and bloomed heat into her chest like a puff of poison. The sheets barely moved when she slid into bed. The moon was bright and kept her company. Aang’s robe was warm and familiar against her chest.

She held it tighter and hid her face in the thick weave. 

It smelled like him.

It didn't have a heartbeat.

Katara curled up like a dying flower. She didn't try to sleep. Sleep required peace. 

Katara hugged herself. The moon didn’t speak softly to her or tell her she wasn’t alone. 

The warmth from his robe sapped into her and grew cold like a fading last hope.

Katara didn’t cry. Not anymore. 

She didn’t feel sad. She didn’t...She didn’t feel. 

The space in her heart was empty.

Just like the dip in the bed.

…

The world was warm and smelled like all things fresh and free when Katara woke up on the fourth day. The wind from the open window was lazy currents from an even lazier ocean just beyond. Rain and ozone told of a storm. Katara buried her face in Aang’s robe— _ her _ robe—and tried to ignore it. She tried to focus on the warmth instead.

The warmth.

Katara recognized the dip of weight in the mattress, urging her toward him like she was rolling down an incline, before his laugh woke her up to a dream.

Aang’s smile was as bright as his eyes were gentle. They were half-lidded, too. His whole posture was a broken coil pretending to still be a spring, but that didn’t stop him from trying. He laid on his side and rested his face on one fist, eclipsing her in his shadow. He studied her like she was a painting he was seeing for the first time—like he was just now finding every hidden meaning buried behind each brushstroke.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” Aang said, like he always did. His voice was warmer than his robe had been when it came off the fire. 

Katara stared for longer than she liked. Every part of her wanted to move. She couldn’t. Maybe all of this was a dream. Aang said he would be gone for a week at the least. It had been only a few days. He had to fly all the—

Aang touched her cheek and hummed their song. And though only his thumb brushed under her eye, the whole of her felt like it was hugged.

He was home early.

That  _ bastard _ .

The armor Katara layered around her heart was slow to peel off. She was expecting a week—he told her a week so she  _ prepared _ for a week—

“Before you ask, no, you’re not dreaming.” Aang’s kiss was a laugh, and his even bigger smile was an invitation to dance. “Though I’m sure I’m in your dreams just as much as not.”

Katara glared at him for all she was worth. She glared at him even as she hugged his robe tighter and fought to keep her eyes dry and her lip from shaking. She glared at him even as he slipped his arm into the untouched curl of blankets and under her shoulders to tug her closer to him like she was his wayward teddybear.

Katara hesitated— _ Spirits _ , she hesitated—before releasing his sorry excuse for a replacement and fisting handfuls of  _ his _ robes. 

She shook. He had a heartbeat.

Aang spoke softly and rubbed her back until all of her hurts were covered in a salve of promises he would never break and ‘ _ I love you _ ’s that he would repeat until time was lost and ran out.

“You’re  _ home _ ,” she said. 

Aang kissed her hair. “ _ You’re _ home.”

He said it like a beautiful truth. 

The first day together was the best. Katara kept his mug full, even if he just sipped it, so that it never grew cold. Aang stuck to her like a second shadow—gently brushing his shoulder to hers like he was sneaking glances across a meeting table. He kept doing it until she stopped checking behind her whenever she turned a corner to make sure he was still there.

By that point, Aang was holding Katara’s hand in one of his and the dip of her waist in the other, and the buzz of silence became the muted patting of feet in figure-eights. The dance he led her in was so light and fast that Katara’s feet glided over the ground. Their laughs revived the air. Their kisses were smiles. The little space Aang allowed between them radiated his warmth like Katara was standing  _ just _ close enough to the fire. 

The first night together was the best. They slept outside under the moonpeach trees and dogpiled with Appa like they did in the war. 

The nightmares were a memory, and they grew fainter and fainter, like wrinkles smoothed out of the bed. 

**Author's Note:**

> …This was almost a sad fic (if you couldn’t tell from the first half with Katara:c) but it’s not Tearbending Tuesday/Thursday and the F in Friday stands for fluff. Plus, I haven’t written littleshit!Aang in a while and needed an excuse


End file.
